Ice Cold
by Ultimate Kaiosama
Summary: An elemental is not born, they are created, born from experiences with evil. One Harry Potter now comes into his own, not fully aware of the godly power he wields. Striving to work for it, he sets off on path that will change the history of the Wizarding World, for better or worse, is unknown. But, remember the road to h*** is paved with good intentions. MORE INFORMATION INSIDE!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a new plot idea. I am using mostly American terms as I don't really know some of the British terms like "pence" instead of penny? Not really sure there. This features MILD Ron Weasley bashing, Slightly Manipulative!Good!Dumbledore, Overbearing!Good!Molly Weasley, Ravenclaw!Hermione, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!Fred Weasley, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!George Weasley, Slytherin!Ginny Weasley, Arrogant!Good!Draco Malfoy, NO SUPER!Slytherin!Dark!**Good!**Ice-Elemental!Independent!Harry, Good!Repentant!Not-as-harsh!Snape (as noticed by the name), and NO PAIRINGS AS OF NOW!

Yes, Harry will be powerful, but only to an extent of his age and will have to work for his powers. His only advantage will be wandless magic, which still will drain him considerably in the beginning, until he trains it, sort of like a muscle. In 1st year, Harry can produce a snowball, for example, that will be the extent of his powers INTENTIONALLY, that isn't to say he won't be more powerful during accidental magic, such as in this chapter. **Rated T for Slight Harsh Language and Mild Descriptions of Abuse!**

P.S. Harry will only have be the HEIR of Potter, Peverell, and Black until 14 when he can take up the Potter and Peverell Lordship, however, he will still remain the scion because the current lord, Sirius Black, still lives, or does he? Hehe… wait and find out.

It was a cold day outside, sunny, but cold. The kids outside were playing in the snow, creating snowmen, and making snow angels. Snowballs were flying across the yard. All children were having fun this Christmas of 1987, save for one Harry James Potter. Said Harry Potter was stuck in his room, which in reality was the cupboard under the stairs, though this was a well-guarded secret, one that would ruin the Dursleys should anyone discover it.

And there we arrive at the root of the problem – the Dursleys. One should mention that a certain Petunia Dursley neè Evans was Harry's Aunt, though she loathed him more than anything she could ever remember. Harry's Uncle, Vernon Dursley was a manager at a local drills firm called Grunnings and loathed anything abnormal, which in his eyes was represented by none other than our very own Harry James Potter. And of course who could forget their precious Duddikins. Or as we know him, Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin, who strove to make Harry's life hell, in school, at home, or around the neighborhood. Together all three of them drove Harry to the point of depression, if a 7 year old could be depressed.

Petunia would gossip to the other women of Privet Drive, Surrey, which is where they currently resided, that Harry was a troublemaker just like his whore of a mother and drunk of a father. Needless to say, who would want such a troublemaker playing with their _normal_ child?

Dudley would make fun of Harry in school, and constantly beat him up and any other child who dared to talk to Harry. Once again, needless to say, Harry didn't have many friends for long. Dudley would also commit small crimes around the neighborhood, which were immediately pinned on that troublemaker Potter, whereas it couldn't ever be my precious Duddikins, Petunia would crow to anyone who would inquire with them. An example of said small crime would be trampling over Mrs. Number 9's roses in here front garden. But it couldn't have been Harry who was in school at the time unlike Dudley who had faked sick and his parents had lapped it up quite eagerly, Petunia urging the doctor for a home visit. Yet once again, logic escapes these simpletons.

But, now let us proceed to the beginning of our story, with young Harry Potter in his cupboard. Harry Potter, no matter what might one think, _was_ a strange child. Strange things happened around him. One example was when Petunia shaved off Harry's hair with military-like precision, and the next day it was back. It was almost like magic. Another example was when a teacher had ridiculed Harry for his choice of clothing in coming to school, as if he had a choice in clothing. God forbid the Dursleys would have to spend a penny on Harry. And what of little Harry Potter. While the Dursleys were enjoying a beautiful night at the local country club, poor little Harry Potter was locked in his cupboard under the stairs.

"I hate them… Why can't they just _die_? I hate them… Die… Die… Die," was a mantra Harry repeated over and over to himself in his cupboard. It was his one spark, his one happy thought that kept him sane, and barely that, if at all, throughout his years of torment at the Dursleys. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, Harry understood he was abused. When Harry tried to tell his teacher, there was a conference with the Principal, and with Vernon's influence, and the Principal's greed, everything was hushed up, his teacher fired, and a nice fat check waiting for the Principal the very next day. So, Harry continued to suffer, and with each passing day, a darkness grew within him, it wasn't evil, simply the byproduct of the cancer known as abuse.

Now, back to the present, as Harry's tormented brain revolted against his Stockholm-like Syndromed conditioning, which was to be quiet, don't ask questions, and for the most part be meek and moldable, the darkness which had grown inside of Harry had now festered in his brain, feeding him thoughts of what to do to deal with the Dursleys. Harry tried to calm himself and his thoughts, and as he did, a peace came over him, chilling him, but soothing him at the same time. In… Out… In… Out, Harry repeated to himself as he breathed deeply in and out, trying desperately to calm the raging fire in him craving revenge. Slowly but surely, the fire in his body gave way to an ice-cold chill, and instinctively, Harry's magic had made its choice. Level-headed over passion, logic over emotions, ice over fire, and yet to be known, Slytherin over Gryffindor. And almost like magic, the temperature in the house started dipping, the internal heating mechanism somehow faulting, and the temperature in the house reached temperatures colder than the ones outside. Soon the pipes began to freeze, and subsequently burst, flooding the house with ice-cold water, the fridge and freezer began frosting, the lights dimmed by ice gathering on the light bulbs. Of course, one must consider the Potter Luck, because as this was happening, the Dursley family, for once in a strangely good mood made its way down Privet Drive, and turned into the driveway, blissfully unaware of the unnatural events occurring inside the house.

Dudley, excited to torment Harry about what a great time the FAMILY had together, opened the door first, and was crushed by a torrent of ice-cold water, chilling Dudley down to the bone, inducing shivers almost immediately. Vernon, as he was prone to hot-headedness, automatically drew the conclusion, which for once was true, it was that blasted Potter's fault. So, he strode into the house, braving the freezing temperature and ice-cold water, with little light, and bellowed, "Freak! What in blazes have you done now?"

There was no reply, so Vernon grabbed the poker from the fireplace and proceeded to the cupboard under the stairs. He ripped the door off of its hinges in his anger and then looked inside, where all his anger and bravado waned as he feasted his eyes upon the shining emerald eyes of Harry and the ice surrounding his body. Vernon gasped in horror. It was his worst nightmare come true. The freak was doing magic. And once again, anger seized control of his logical part of his brain, however small it may have been and swung the poker towards Harry's head, intent on impaling Harry's brain, evidently pushed beyond the brink of insanity. Suddenly, Harry grabbed the poker, stopping it inches from his face, and spoke in a harsh, chilling voice, "Leave, peasant!"

Vernon paled, which consisted drastically with the reddish-purplish color that always seemed to mar his face. Harry continued speaking.

"Do I have to repeat myself? Your kind have no standing upon me! I am your God! Bow before your master!"

And suddenly, Vernon's back bent unnaturally until he was 90⁰ to the ground. And suddenly, within Vernon's pathetically sized brain, a thought resonated, it basically screamed that Harry was master, him servant. And though Vernon attempted to fight it, the thought overpowered him, making any and all other resistance futile.

"Yes, Master Harry," Vernon muttered.

Petunia who rushed into the house at first sound of Vernon's screams gasped and held her hand to her mouth, as she witnessed the scene in front of her. She flashed-back to her days as a child.

"Higher, Tuney, higher!" Lily shouted gleefully.

Petunia pushed Lily higher and higher on the swings until at its peak Lily jumped off and slowly floated towards the ground.

"How do you do that," Petunia exclaimed. "It's not fair," she grumbled, "Why does Lily get all the weird things?"

Little did either of them know, a pale, sallow boy was lurking behind the big tree in the park, overhearing their entire conversation and watching the scene unfold in front of him. The boy couldn't help himself, he was too excited.

"I know why," the sallow boy said, trying hard to restrain his eagerness.

"Ah!" Petunia screamed as she jumped, clearly startled by the boy's sudden appearance. "Have you been watching us," she accused.

The sallow looking boy blushed, obviously not intending to be caught eavesdropping on their conversation, but he couldn't help it.

"I know why you can do things like that," the boy muttered.

"Really," Lily asked skeptically. "I don't believe you."

"No, I mean, I can do them too, it's because you're a witch!" the boy exclaimed.

"Well, that's not very nice, calling someone a witch," Lily said, frowning.

"I didn't mean it like that, I mean, I'm a wizard," the boy said excitedly, finally hoping to have a friend who was similar to him.

"Yeah, and I'm the Witch of the North," Petunia said sarcastically. "Let's go home Lily, away from _him_," Petunia added, pointedly looking at the ragged state of clothes the boy was wearing.

The boy flushed a deep red, obviously embarrassed, and scathingly replied, "No one asked for your opinion, filthy muggle!"

Both girls were confused, but Lily knew enough by the tone of the boy's voice that it was an insult, one she didn't understand, but an insult nonetheless.

"Let's go, Tuney," Lily said distastefully, "I don't want to be around him any longer either."

And with that both girls turned and left for home, leaving the sallow boy standing there, tears forming at his eyes, not comprehending why no one wanted to be his friend.

Petunia returned to reality quite harshly.

"Get out," she whispered, still reeling from her flashback.

"I don't know why we ever took a freak like you in," Petunia exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch, volume, and quivering as well. "You're just like her," Petunia whispered to herself. And she turned away from the boy, sobs escaping her, unable to bear her sister's eyes looking at her so coldly, accusingly, so unlike _Lily_.

"I don't know what you did to my precious Vernon, but I won't stand for it anymore," she cried, "All I want is you out of this house, you are no longer welcome here."

"Gladly," Harry whispered harshly, his voice carrying over the gushing pipes and the wails outside of Dudley. And with that, Harry's magic responded to him again, and he disappeared with a resounding CRACK. And just like that, by mutual agreement, the blood wards, set up to protect Harry and his family, crumbled.

A siren went off in Albus Dumbledore's office, but with no one around to hear it, save for Fawkes, who crooned melancholically, because it was Christmas, and there was a huge feast at Hogwarts, Harry's disappearance went unnoticed until it was too late, and the blood wards couldn't be salvaged, and Harry was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is a new plot idea. I am using mostly American terms as I don't really know some of the British terms like "pence" instead of penny? Not really sure there. This features MILD Ron Weasley bashing, Slightly Manipulative!Good!Dumbledore, Overbearing!Good!Molly Weasley, Ravenclaw!Hermione, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!Fred Weasley, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!George Weasley, Slytherin!Ginny Weasley, Arrogant!Good!Draco Malfoy, NO SUPER!Slytherin!Dark!**Good!**Ice-Elemental!Independent!Harry (as noticed by the name), Good!Repentant!Not-as-harsh!Snape, and NO PAIRINGS AS OF NOW!

Yes, Harry will be powerful, but only to an extent of his age and will have to work for his powers. His only advantage will be wandless magic, which still will drain him considerably in the beginning, until he trains it, sort of like a muscle. In 1st year, Harry can produce a snowball, for example, that will be the extent of his powers INTENTIONALLY, that isn't to say he won't be more powerful during accidental magic, such as in this chapter. **Rated T for Slight Harsh Language and Mild Descriptions of Abuse!**

P.S. Harry will only have be the HEIR of Potter, Peverell, and Black until 14 when he can take up the Potter and Peverell Lordship, however, he will still remain the scion because the current lord, Sirius Black, still lives, or does he? Hehe… wait and find out.

A/N 2: Please leave a review. No flame. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Just to clear it up, Harry is 7 when he leaves the Dursleys. Also, check out my profile for an IMPORTANT update! Thanks!

" " – Regular Speech

' ' – Parseltongue

"_lalala_" – Thoughts that aren't denoted by a "thought, "speech"."

Harry reappeared with a loud CRACK in the middle of a dark forest. Drained by the magic he had used up "defeating" his Uncle, and his subsequent escape, he passed out slowly, desperately trying to maintain his hold on consciousness as a shadow loomed over him.

"Kid… kid, are you all right? HELP! SOMEONE CALL 9-1-1!" The mystery person screamed. "Hang on, kid, help is on the way, just stay with me!"

Harry's vision faded to black as the ground rushed up to meet him once more and he completely fainted.

Norman Warrick was an avid camper, and it was his 5th trip into these parts of the Glenwood Forest, near the suburbs about 15 miles outside of London, closest to Neasden. Norman was in his late 20s, single, good-looking, hard-working, all-around decent guy, so when he heard a loud CRACK coming from a little bit away from his camping area, naturally, he went to check it out. Norman expected to see perhaps a bear, or a fallen branch, not a chilled, half-starved kid in clothes four times too big for him. Staying level-headed, he rushed over to the, what he assumed to be fallen, kid.

"Kid… kid, are you all right? HELP! SOMEONE CALL 9-1-1!" Norman screamed. "Hang on, kid, help is on the way, just stay with me!"

Some local campers heard Norman's shout, and rushed to the grounds ranger to alert the police. Sirens could be heard 5 minutes later from about half a mile away. Norman, not knowing how much time the kid had left, picked the kid up, frowning at how light he was and how cold his skin felt, quickly ran towards the entrance of the camp grounds. Cradling Harry's head, he sprinted towards the emergency personnel rushing towards him.

"What happened?" the first medical personnel asked.

Norman quickly recounted the major details of what happened while the other medics loaded Harry onto a stretcher.

"Well, I was camping about 1 mile in, settling down to go to sleep, when I heard a loud noise a little bit away from me. Naturally curious, I went to check it out, and I found this boy laying on the ground, I assume he had fallen from a broken tree branch. Wonder what he was doing there in the first place? Could be a runaway, or abused, his clothes are four times too big for him, and his skin was ice cold, possibly he was suffering from hypothermia. So I ran over to him, he was barely conscious, then I shouted for someone to call 9-1-1, someone a little bit next to me I guess overheard my screaming and called you guys."

"Thank you for your statement," the first medic said, before rushing off to the ambulance just before it drove away speedily, sirens blaring.

Norman frowned, and said, "Good luck kid," before turning around and walking back to his campsite.

Meanwhile the ambulance was speeding off to the nearest hospital.

"Vitals?" the first medic asked.

"Skin is chilled to 5 degrees below normal but body temperature is normal. Pulse slow but steady. Emaciated. Need an iv, stat." the second medic replied, clipped.

"Right, here you go sir," the third medic replied, obviously an intern by the chain of command.

The iv, filled with nutrients and water, was slowly inserted into Harry's vein by the crease in his right elbow. A warm, wet towel was draped across his forehead. Slowly, Harry's eyes began to flutter open.

"Huh… wha… where am I?" Harry asked groggily.

"Son, try and remain calm. You are in an ambulance, you fell from a tree, do you remember anything else at all?" the medic in charge asked (medic 2).

As disoriented as Harry was, he was aware of his surroundings enough to know if he gave his name he might be back to the Dursleys by morn, his injuries explained away with a wave of Vernon's hand.

"No, where am I, what's my name?" Harry asked, putting on a ridiculous, yet somehow believable act.

"Poor dear, amnesia, must have been from the fall," the first medic replied sympathetically.

"Well, we have to call you something, how about James, you look like a James, and Black, you have black hair. That will be the name we will call you by until we figure out who you are. I mean, we can't go around calling you John Doe, now can we?" the second medic said as gently as possible.

Finally, the ambulance pulled into the hospital. Harry was still strapped to the gurney, and the gurney was lifted from the ambulance and wheeled into the hospital as quickly as possible without jolting the gurney. Doctors and nurses were called and Harry was wheeled into the emergency room.

"What are his symptoms?" Dr. Kirchner asked, walking into the room.

"Emaciated, and amnesia are the main issues, not to mention a lack of nutrients and vitamins," the second medic, the only one there, replied.

Dr. Kirchner frowned. In Kirchner's mind, there was no crime more heinous than child abuse. As a child abuse victim himself, Kirchner grew up untrusting, wary of the world, and full of hatred. Fourteen years visiting a therapist later, he had mostly moved on, those issues no longer troubling him. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Dr. Kirchner.

"If he has amnesia, then perhaps it is for the best, as he won't remember any abuse he might have suffered. At the same time, it won't help us catch his abusers any time soon."

"Abuse, you really think so?" the second medic asked skeptically.

"Are you that DENSE? He's God-damn emaciated! If that isn't abuse then I don't know what is!"

Harry, who was listening into the conversation, smiled briefly, thanked the Gods above, and thought, "Wow, this whole amnesia thing might work to my favor. No awkward questions about the Dursleys, no Dursleys, free food and warmth, no Dursleys. But, how did I get into that forest? Last I remember was feeling so angry, and like a fire was spreading through my body, then everything sort of chilled, and I felt calm, peaceful, like nothing could bother me. After that, well nothing. Hmm."

"Son, as the second medic decided, which might not be a bad idea, until we can figure out what your real name is, your name will be James Black. I do hope that will be acceptable," Dr. Kirchner asked gently.

"James… Black… I like it," Harry replied joyfully, acting his part as a child who doesn't remember anything.

Well, a month came and went, and though there were inquiries as to the true identity of Harry, no one stepped forward to claim him, and so, Harry was shipped off to a "nice" orphanage in the run-down part of the run-down, gang-ridden, chock-full of crime, suburb of Harlesden.

Harry was dropped off by taxi, holding only one suitcase full of hand-me-downs Dr. Kirchner had managed to salvage before Harry left. Harry drew in a deep breath, and knocked on the door of Grey's Orphanage.

Harry waited perhaps 10 seconds before the door was opened by, what at first glance appeared to be a hag. In reality, it was just a crabby old lady who hated her job, and took it out on the children, or took entertainment in bullying in the orphanage. She would soon come to regret her inactivity.

"Um… hi, my name is James Black, I was dropped off here as I have nowhere else to go."

The lady frowned. "Oh, another one, _just_ what we need. Come in."

When Harry did nothing but frown at the lady, she snapped, "I didn't stutter, now did I?"

Harry promptly made his way to the entrance hall, where two young boys were waiting; pale and gaunt, trembling slightly as the matron, the lady who had answered the door, made her way towards them. Harry instantly became suspicious of the place he was now supposed to reside, but thought nothing of it, and put it to the back burner, so to speak. The Dursleys were much worse than whatever hell this new place could come up with.

"Devin, Logan, this is James Black, James, these are your new roommates, Devin McLaren and Logan Williams. Logan, take James' stuff to his room. Devin, show James around the place."

"Yes ma'am," Devin and Logan snapped to attention quicker than a child at boot camp. They quickly dispersed to their individual responsibilities. Logan grabbed Harry's suitcase and ran upstairs as if a lion was chasing him. Considering what was known about the matron, perhaps he was. Devin clutched Harry's hand in a vice-like grip and dragged him throughout the "house", babbling as he was pointing out each room. The "living room": where the orphans met their prospective families. The kitchen, if it could be called that, with its rat infestation, and child cooks. The rooms: dusty, and as small as a large cubicle. And finally, the matron's room, as big as a movie theatre, with large plushy chairs that begged to be sat in, and a beautiful, hand carved mahogany colored oak desk with a throne-like chair behind it. Harry stared incredulously at the blatant misuse of power. He turned to Devin to say something, but he just shook his head minutely.

The matron appeared out of thin air behind them, and smiled thinly. "I do _sincerely_ hope our lodgings are to your standards."

Sensing there was no point in arguing with a brick wall, he dully responded, "Yes."

"Yes, what," the matron faux politely asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, gritting his teeth in an effort not to say something he might regret later.

"Very good. You just might learn. Listen up boy. In here, I am King. What I say goes. Do you understand? Because if you don't, you just might find that life will suddenly become very difficult for you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," the matron, for once, responded warmly. "My name is Patricia Brown, you may call me Matron or Matron Brown. Nothing else will suffice."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Devin, show James here to his room, and remember, lights out by 9:30."

Devin once again grabbed Harry's hand in a vice-like grip and pulled Harry out of the matron's room and to his own. Harry saw his room, and his jaw dropped.

It was the biggest, best room he had ever been in, besides the hospital room.

"_Wow, is this all mine? I can't believe it. I mean, compared to the matron's room, this is nothing, but still, I've never had a room this big before. This might be the best decision I made, not returning to the Dursleys._"

The room was the size of a large, handicapped cubicle. Due to the fact there were three people sharing the room did not diminish what Harry believed to be superior quality. There were three twin-sized beds lined up against one side of the wall in a row, with three feet of space separating them. Dust balls and cobwebs lined the ceilings and spiders scurried along the floor. 3 single cubbies were lined up against the opposite wall. Two had hand-made nametags that read, "Devvin MickLairen" and "Loagan Willieams". The third name tag looked like it had not been touched in years and read, "Henree Dumbelldoor".

"_Dumbelldoor, hmm… sounds familiar, I wonder why?_"

"Your name tag will go over Henry's," Logan said, looking up from his spot next to the solitary bright spot in the room, the window.

"It looks like it hasn't been touched in years," Harry observed, "Why?"

"Well, to be honest, everyone who has stayed in this room that takes that cubbie has claimed to have seen his ghost and refused to stay in this room any longer. Claiming to haunt them or something like that. Nobody else who has stayed in this room has seen any ghost, so it's just rumors. You'll be fine, James."

"Ghost… what happened?"

"No one knows. One day, his roommates woke up and he was dead, stiff as a board-nail, eyes wide-open, unseeing. But the thing was, there was nothing wrong with him, it's like he died of fright, having a scared look on his face. What could have scared him to death, the world may never know? Of course, this is all just speculation, for all we know, the matron could've murdered him after being annoyed with him.

Harry giggled, before yawning, and looking at the clock. It read 9:30.

As soon as 9:30 came, the time having flied by for Logan, Devin, and Harry, the matron's shrill voice pierced the rooms.

"Lights out," the matron wailed.

Reluctantly, Harry, Devin, and Logan turned off the lights, and snuggled under the thin blankets, as they tried to become comfortable on the rock-hard mattresses.

Soon, Harry's eyes began to flutter, and he began yawning. Sure enough, he fell asleep quickly, happy thoughts of a new life without the Dursleys resonating throughout his dreams and sub-consciousness.


End file.
